Trouble Over Me
by Bluenose
Summary: Family secrets make a homicide case much more difficult than it appears for Jim Steele. Title from a song by Tift Merritt. STORY COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

Hey Guys,

I'm back with a new story!

Danny Messer and Lindsay Munroe are characters from CSI NY. Andy Sipowicz, Baldwin Jones and John Clarke are characters from NYPD Blue.

I own nothing to do with Conviction and the title is taken from a Tift Merritt song

**Chapter One**

_August 18th, 2240_

"I did it." His voice was oddly calm, empty, stripped bare of all emotion. "I did it. I shot him."

xxxXXXxxx

Andy Sipowicz watched from the observation room as his detectives walked the suspect through the interrogation, arms folded across his chest, ignoring the sweat beading on his forehead, the ineffectual _whurr _of the fan in the corner of the room.

The door opened and closed softly, and he heard careful footsteps as someone moved across the room to join him at the window. "Lieutenant."

He nodded, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. "Counselor."

Jim Steele peered intently through the glass, his entire frame rigid, still wearing his suit jacket despite the heat. "How's it going in there?"

Sipowicz shrugged. "He still makes himself as the shooter."

"What about a lawyer? Has he asked for a lawyer yet?"

"No. He waived his phone call. Seemed like he was in a real hurry to get it all down on paper. What's going on with you, Counselor? You'd think you'd be glad to have an open and shut case for once."

"I just want to make sure that everything is done by the book. I don't want anyone to say we screwed this kid over." He looked around, seeming to notice the fan, the stifling atmosphere for the first time. "Why the hell is it so hot in here?"

"Busted AC." Sipowicz ran his hand across his scalp. "And if you think this is bad, you should see what its done to my fish."

Jim smiled slightly, still staring through the glass, his attention focused on the interrogation. "How's Connie doing?"

"She's good." Andy folded his arms again, fighting the urge to check his pager. "Due any day now."

Jim nodded, his eyes still intent, still focused through the glass.

xxxXXXxxx

"Why don't you walk us through what happened?"

"I just told you what happened." He looked from one detective to the other, his face pale, his eyes wide and staring. "Why do we need to go through it again?"

"We need to get all this straight in our heads, so we can go tell the DA you've tried to get in front of this. It'll play better for you that way."

He sighed heavily, lifting a coke can with shaking hands. "What is it you want to know, Detectives?"

xxxXXXxxx

_July 4th_

He paused, his hand on the door handle, listening to the raised voices inside.

"You think you can speak to me like that?"

"No, I'm sorry…"

"Don't you dare speak to me like that!"

"I'm sorry."

"I'll teach you to keep a respectful tongue in your mouth!"

He pushed open the door, painting a false smile across his face. "Hey, Pop. Hey Ma." He walked across the room to kiss her on the cheek. Pretending not to notice the tension in the room, the pain dusted across his mother's face, the anger radiating from his father. "Happy 4th of July!"

His mother did her best to smile. "Thank you, dear."

"Where's your sister?" His father made no effort to hide the anger in his voice.

"She just phoned me. Something came up at work." He was surprised at how calm his own voice was. "She's going to meet us at the Park."

"Typical." His father grunted angrily, pursing his lips in disapproval. "She always did think the world revolved around her. Just like her mother."

XxxXXXxxx

_August 18th _

The sound of the ringing phone shocked her out of the exhausted sleep she had fallen into. Blindly she groped through the darkness until she found it. "Hello?" Her voice still thick with sleep.

"Hello, sweetheart."

Her mother's voice cut through the cobwebs, cut through the last vestiges of sleep. "Ma?" She sat upright in bed, sudden fear rushing through her body. "Ma, what's wrong? What's happened?"

She knew that something had happened, could tell from dreadful, awful calmness in her mother's voice.

"Its your father. Something awful has happened to your father."

xxxXXXxxx

"I did it." He sat back, an odd smile playing across his lips, oddly content. "I shot him."

"Where did you get the gun from?"

"Is that important?"

"Just answer the question."

"I bought it off a guy in Harlem."

"Who?"

"What difference does it make? I'm the one that shot my father!"

"Who'd you buy the gun off?"

"I told you. A guy in Harlem."

"Where in Harlem?"

"A bar. Called the Vudu Lounge."

"What's his name?"

"I don't know his name. I was told he was the guy to go to for a piece. I swear, I never saw him before. All he did was sell me the gun. He'd nothing to do with this, I swear."

xxxXXXxxx

_August 18th 2100_

The flash of a crime scene camera illuminated the apartment like a gunshot, bright and searing. The uniformed cop lifted the tape for Jim as he flashed his DA's badge and he ducked underneath it, glancing quickly, carefully around the crime scene.

It looked like a battle zone, furniture overturned, smashed and broken against the walls, the aftermath of a childish tantrum. One photograph remained untouched on the side board, defiant. Alone.

And a body, lying in the middle of the floor.

Through an open door, he could see a woman, sitting on a bed, tightly holding a young man's hand, her eyes fixed and rapt on the chaos in the living room. A Detective crouched next to her, speaking with her in a soft voice.

"Got another shell here, Linds." Danny Messer lifted a casing, studied it carefully and then dropped it into an evidence bag. "9mm."

Another flash from the camera.

The woman in the other room flinched, turning her face away from the CSIs. The detective glanced over his shoulder and stood, walking across to Jim, picking his way through the wreckage.

"Counselor."

"Detective Clarke. What have we got?"

"Neighbour called it in. Victim was DOA. Shot close range, twice in the chest, once in the head. CSIs got all the casings."

Jim nodded his eyes flicking towards the bedroom. "Who are they?"

Clarke followed his gaze. "Wife and son." He lowered his voice. "Son makes himself as the shooter."

"You taking him to the 15th?"

"Yeah, we're just waiting for Danny and Lindsay to finish."

"Has he said anything else?"

"Nothing yet. I read him his rights and all he said was 'I shot my father'." Clarke closed his notebook, tapping his pen against the cover. "Listen, I better go, my partner's interviewing the neighbour who called it in."

"We got a gun!"

Instinctively, every one in the room took a step back, out of the line of fire as Danny lifted a 9mm pistol carefully in his gloved hands, He sniffed it, grimacing at the acrid odour. "It's been fired." He worked the mechanism, checking the magazine. "Three shells gone."

He dropped the gun into the bag.

"Are you done yet, Detective Munroe?"

"Almost." Lindsay's voice was distracted she tried to focus her camera. "Just a few more minutes."

He drifted through the room like a ghost, lost amidst the noise and the lights. Drawn towards the lone photograph.

He gasped when he saw it, his hands stretching out towards it, his finger tips almost brushing against the faded frame.

"Counselor!"

Lindsay Munroe's warning shout managed to tear through his haze, just in time to stop him touching the frame, just in time to stop him contaminating the scene.

He couldn't stop himself staring at the photograph.

A photograph of a family before gunshots tore them apart. Father. Mother. Son. Daughter.

Jessica.

xxxXXXxxx

_August 18th 2250_

The door of the observation room knocked and then opened. "Lieutenant?"

Sipowicz looked around, peering across the room over the top of his glasses. "Ah, Munroe. How are things over the crime lab?"

"Busy, Lieutenant. All the crazies come out during the heat wave." She walked across the room,slowly, reluctantly and nodded towards the glass. "Is that from the shooting earlier tonight?"

"Yeah."

"Is he still making himself the shooter?"

"Yeah."

She sighed heavily. "We've got a problem."

**End of Chapter One**

_Please, Read and Review!_


	2. Chapter 2

-1Hey Guys,

A huge thank you to everyone that read and reviewed Chapter One. I hope you all enjoy Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

_August 18th 2255_

"Sonofabitch!" Baldwin slammed his hand against the wall of the room, his body taught with anger and frustration. "Sonofabitch! I knew there was something that didn't sit right with his story."

"How come we're only hearing about this now?"

"We're slammed." Lindsay shrugged apologetically. "Mac, Stella and Hawkes caught a triple of Broadway. Me and Danny, we're covering the rest of the shift." She shrugged again. "We thought it was open and shut."

"We all did." Clarke slumped into the other chair, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. "What now, boss?"

"He's jerking us around. All we've got is his confession and now you're telling us that aint worth shit." Baldwin shook his head. "We've wasted half the night with this prick."

"You certain he didn't pull the trigger, Lindsay?"

"Absolutely, Lieutenant. His GSR came back negative. I even tested his clothes for trace, just to be sure. Nothing." She shrugged again, helpless and frustrated. "There's no way he pulled the trigger."

xxxXXXxxx

_July 7th_

"So what's up, Jason?"

"What? You meant I cant take my sister out for lunch?" He stopped at a hot dog stand, smiling at the vendor. "Could I have two, please? One with onions, one without."

"When you said you were going to take me out for lunch, this wasn't what I had in mind."

"It'll do you good to get out of that office for a bit." He pulled out a small role of bills, handing across enough to cover their lunch and handed one of the dogs to her. "Come on, it's a nice day for a walk."

Jessica took a bite, falling into step beside her brother, enjoying the feel of the sun on her face, the noise of the Park around them. Waiting for Jason to ring up whatever was on his mind.

Jason was right. It was good to get away from the office for a bit, good to get away, escape, from the problems and the complications there. Even if it was only for a little while.

"I need to ask you something, Jessica."

She sighed heavily, seeing her beautiful lunch time melt away like dew in the sunshine. "Jesus, Jason, what the hell have you done now?"

"It's not like that."

"What is it like?"

"You saw them. The other day. Same as me. What did you think of them?"

Jessica sighed again, throwing her half eaten hot dog into a nearby bin. Suddenly her appetite had deserted her. "You know what I think of it. I thought she was going to leave him, get away from it. But you talked her into staying."

"I know." Jason looked away from her, reluctant to meet her eyes. "I heard them, Jess. On the 4th, I heard them…"

"Oh Jesus, Jason."

She put her hand on his shoulder, and he jerked away from her touch. "You were right, Jess." His face contorted in anger, and just for a second, he looked so much like their father that it stole her breath, his features shadowed and angry, strained.

Then the shadow passed and he looked like her brother again, upset and frightened. "She should have left him when you said, Jess. I talked her into going back to that. This is all my fault."

"No its not. You hear me, Jason?" She stood on her toes, putting her arms around him, differences and squabbles forgotten. "This isn't your fault. Its on him. Its all on him."

"I have an idea to get her out." His arms tightened around her, his voice quick and urgent in her ear. "Can she stay with you?"

"Of course! I just want her out of there."

"I'm sorry, Jess."

xxxXXXxxx

_August 18th 2255_

"Are his fingerprints on the murder weapon?"

"Yeah, but they're smudged. Looks like he's tried to wipe the weapon clean and screwed up."

"Has he got a record?"

"Couple of bar fights, nothing major." Clarke shrugged. "Hell of a step from there to murder."

"Your move, Counselor. What do you want to do?"

Jim sighed heavily, staring through the glass. He didn't want to put her through this. She deserved better, deserved more than that from him. Especially from him. He owed her that much.

But he knew his job, knew what he had to do.

"Go back at him."

"With what?"

"We know he's lying. He's protecting someone. Find out who it is, and then charge him with obstructing a homicide investigation."

Clarke and Jones exchanged glances.

Jim saw them, and his voice hardened, cold and angry. "Something wrong, Detectives?"

"Are you sure that's a good idea, Counselor? We got at him like that, he's not going to co-operate with us, and we need him to tell us what's going on. Are you sure we want to go down that road?"

He hesitated for a moment. Of course he wasn't sure.

He wanted to phone Alex, explain the situation to her, tell her that he had his doubts. Ask her what she expected him to do, what she wanted him to do.

Tell her that…

But Alex had had enough of his doubts and mistakes. She didn't need to hear anything else from him.

"Counselor? Maybe if we threw him a bone, offered him a deal…"

He knew what she would tell him.

"Just do it, Detective. I'll get the paperwork started."

xxxXXXxxx

_July 20th_

She could hear him snoring in the living room, drowning out the noise coming from the television set. If she was lucky, he'd sleep through until morning.

If she was lucky.

She walked carefully across the hall, stopping at the bathroom door. Holding her breath.

Waiting.

Nothing.

She breathed a sigh of relief, closing and locking the bathroom door behind her. She leant against it, longing to give in, surrender, just slip away.

She took the bottle out of the pocket of her dressing gown, barely able to uncap it. Greedily swallowing two of the pills, slipping the half empty bottle back into her pocket.

How many times was this?

The pain faded to a dull ache, and she forced herself away from the door. Pausing after every step, her heart in her mouth, wondering if she had woken him.

His snores echoed through the small house.

She stopped in front of the mirror, staring at her own reflection. Old and haggard. Almost overnight, she had turned into an old woman.

She shrugged off the dressing gown and let it fall to the floor. Staring, now, at the bruises, some yellowed and fading, some fresh, drawn onto her flesh, signs of her husband's affection. She ran her left hand across her abdomen.

Flinching, even her light touch too sensitive, her ring burnished gold against the discoloured flesh.

She lifted her hand, staring at her wedding ring, her eyes filling with tears.

When had her marriage turned into this?

xxxXXXxxx

_August 19th 0130_

"I'm sorry, Jessica."

"It's okay, Ma."

"But Jason…"

"Don't worry about Jason, Ma." Jessica wrapped her arms gently around her mother, holding her as closely as she could. "It's okay. I'll take care of everything."

"Your father…"

"I'll take care of everything."

The door knocked, sudden and jarring.

Jessica glanced at her mother, then stood and walked over to the door. Years of habit made her glance through the peephole.

She saw two men standing in the corridor outside her apartment. One of them held an NYPD Detective shield up to the peephole.

She opened the door carefully. "Can I help you?"

"ADA Jessica Rossi?"

"Yes."

"Detectives Clarke and Jones, 15th Squad. Can we come in please?"

"Why?"

"We need to talk to your mother."

**End of Chapter Two**

_Please, Read and Review!_


	3. Chapter 3

Hey Guys,

A huge thank you to everyone that has read and reviewed so far.

**Chapter Three**

_August 19th 0900_

"What's the situation with the Rossi homicide?"

"We have two suspects in custody. Clarke and Jones are going to go back at them this morning."

"Do you think they'll get a confession. I want to indite as soon as possible."

"Indite?" Jim shook his head. "Alexandra, I think we can plead this out. We don't need to put the family through anything more."

"And if it were anyone other than Jessica?"

Jim flushed, his face turning a dark, ugly red. "That isn't fair, Alexandra."

"Isn't it?"

"I don't believe that a trial is necessary in this case."

"I disagree."

She turned and started to walk off, turning her back on him, turning away from him.

"Don't walk away from me, Alexandra." He reached out, grabbing her arm.

She spun to face him, jerking away from his hand, as if his fingers had seared her skin. "Don't touch me, Jim." She brushed her hair back off her face with a trembling hand, the ring on her finger glinting in the corridor's lights.

"Sorry." He backed away, raising his hands defensively. "We don't have to go to trial on this. We can plead it out. We owe her that much."

"We cant, Jim. This office must be seen to pursue a vigorous and full investigation. We cannot be seen to show any favouritism, simply because one of our own is involved in the case."

"And who are you telling that to, Alexandra? Me? Or whoever is covering the case for _The Ledger_?"

She smiled, the same superior smile, so familiar it made his heart twist, her delicate fist tightening around it with every day that she slipped further away from him. "Whichever one of you needs to hear it."

xxxXXXxxx

_July 12th_

"That's him." The bartender pointed past Jason, across the bar. "Over there."

"Thanks." Lifting his drink, he walked over to the table, conscious of cold unfriendly eyes tracking his way across the bar. Swallowing hard, trying to drown his fear and his nerves.

Trying to drown his guilt.

"What the fuck do you want?" The accent harsh and clipped, eyes glittering in the shadows.

"I'm looking for something." Jason swallowed hard again, trying to moisten his throat. "I heard you were the man to talk to about…"

"Shut up." The man leaned forward, his eyes flicking across Jason, rolling a tooth pick from one side of his mouth to the other. "You a cop?"

"No." Jason shook his head, sweat beading across his forehead, the heat and thick atmosphere of the bar closing in around him, his nerves tightening under the man's gaze. "No, I'm not a cop."

The man studied him for a minute longer, then nodded, and pushed a chair towards Jason. "Sit down, fool. I don't do business with a man standing over me."

Jason sank into the chair, his eyes nervously darting around the bar, feeling exposed, vulnerable.

"Now." The man grinned, his teeth gleaming white. "What is it you're looking for?"

He swallowed again, trying to delay saying it for as long as he could. "A gun."

No way to back out of it now.

xxxXXXxxx

_August 19th_

She stood at the door of his office, her skin pale and bloodless. "You had my mother arrested."

Jim stood up, drawing her into his office, conscious of questioning eyes lingering on them. "I'm sorry, Jessica. I had to do it."

"Why?" Her skin was cold, like marble beneath his touch, her eyes black and dead, bloodshot. "Why did you have to do it?"

"I thought it might be easier for her this way, Jessica. I thought it might spare her from having to go through a trial."

"Please, Jim." She took a step towards him, her lips pursing. "Please, Jim, drop the case. Don't do this to my family. Don't do this to my mother."

"I can't Jessica."

"Please, Jim. I'll do anything. You want me to go, let you chase after Alex like some lovesick puppy? I'll do it."

"Jessica…"

She put her hand on his chest, the nails pale, running her hand across his shirt. "You want me, Jim? I'll do anything you want. Please, Jim." Her voice fell to a whisper, almost breaking. "Don't do this to me."

"Jessica." He grabbed her wrist, pushing her away from him. "I'm sorry. I have to do it." The words felt cheap, hollow in his mouth. "Your father deserves a thorough investigation of what happened."

As soon as he said it, he knew it was a mistake.

Her dark eyes flashed angrily. "You're a heartless bastard, Jim. And my father got exactly what he deserved." She flung the door of his office open, storming through the Bureau, trying to ignore the stares and the whispers.

"Jessica."

The word stopped her, almost in sight of the exit. Almost free. She turned slowly, pale cheeks stained with crimson.

Alexandra Cabot stood in the middle of the office, her eyes glittering angrily behind her glasses. "My office. Now."

xxxXXXxxx

_August 18th 2030_

"What do we do now?"

"Just…just give me a moment. Gimme a chance to think. It'll be okay."

"We have to tell Jessica."

"We cant!"

"We have to."

"We cant call her. Not yet. We call her, we bring her into this. We need to keep her on the outside. She can do more to help us from there."

"I'm sorry…I just….I cant…"

"Its okay. Its okay. Everything's going to work out just fine. I'm going to take care of everything."

xxxXXXxxx

_August 19th_

"Jessica Rossi has been suspended."

"What?"

"For how long?"

Alex glared at Nick, her eyes dark with anger. "Until the current investigation into her father's shooting is completed. Her cases…."

"You suspended her? For that?"

"It's a conflict of interests, Nick." Jim's voice was cold, professional, distant. He leaned against the desk, arms folded, careful not to meet Alex's eyes. "The office has to be seen to be impartial."

He could still feel her touch, could still hear her accusation echoing around his head.

Alex smiled grimly, then smoothly replaced it with a politicians mask. "I will not allow the integrity of this office to be called into question during this investigation. Is everyone clear on that?"

She waited for the mumbled chorus of agreement and reluctant acceptance.

"Her caseload will be divided between you, until Jessica returns to duty. Any questions?" She looked around the room, meeting their eyes in turn. Except for Jim, his arms still folded across his chest, refusing to look at her.

"Okay." She sighed heavily. "Back to work."

xxxXXXxxx

"Sinclair and Associates, how can I help you? One moment, please." The receptionist smiled uselessly, pushing buttons on the switchboard. "Sinclair and Associates, how can I help you? One moment please."

Jessica shifted nervously, ill at ease, waiting. Listening to the sound of ringing telephones, the receptionists cool, practised voice.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" The man stood at the reception desk, a pair of delicate half moon glasses hanging from a chain around his neck. "Can I help you?"

"Yes." She stood up and walked over to the desk, clutching her bag in front of her like a shield. "I have an appointment."

"Of course you do." He put his glasses on, carefully adjusting them on the end of his nose, peering through them. "And your name is?"

"Jessica Rossi."

He turned a page, tracing the lines of names in the diary with a long finger. "And who was the appointment with?"

She swallowed, moistening her throat, wanting to say his name as quickly as she could. "with James Sinclair."

**End of Chapter Three**

_Please, Read And Review!_


	4. Chapter 4

Hey,

Once again, a huge thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed so far. Hope you all enjoy this chapter.

James Sinclair, John Clarke Jr and Baldwin Jones are characters from NYPD Blue. I'm borrowing them for this story.

I was never satisfied with the verdict in episode ten, so the opening scene deals with events after that episode.

**Chapter Four**

_May 21st_

"Your Honour, the catalogue of mistakes and errors made by the District Attorneys Office during my client's original trial almost beggars belief." James Sinclair raised his hand, starting to count the points off on his fingers. "Vital evidence was mishandled by the prosecution during the trial."

"A key defence witness was approached by the prosecution and illegally informed of testimony." A second finger joined the first.

"Both the lead prosecutor, James Steele and his second chair, Christina Finn, acted inappropriately and in some cases illegally. My client made several complaints against Mr. Steele, which the trial judge refused to consider."

Alex made a quick note on her legal pad, biting nervously on her lip. Three good points. Probably more than enough for the judge.

Sinclair decided to twist the knife a little further. "On several occasions, my client told Mr. Steele that her husband, the deceased, had been abusive towards her for a number of years. Not only where these claims not investigated, but Mr. Steele rejected them out of hand." He paused, breaking off to direct a withering glance at Jim. "As far as he was concerned, he already had his killer."

"Finally, we request that the court considers punitive action against Ms. Finn." Sinclair sat down, adjusting his tie, leaning across to confer with his client, speaking softly in her ear.

Jim shifted nervously in his seat next to Alex. The last time he had seen her, she had been shattered, broken, her world falling apart around her.

Now she sat next to James Sinclair, innocently made up, demure.. Waiting for her chance to walk away after murdering her husband.

"Ms. Cabot, have you anything to add?"

Alex jerked angrily to her feet. "No, Your Honour. I've reviewed the trial files and I am satisfied that we proved our case in court and with the conduct of my deputies. Further, we refute categorically any allegations that evidence was mishandled. The defendant was offered access to the evidence. That she chose not to exercise that right is not my office's fault."

"I agree with you on that point, Ms Cabot. But not on the others." The Judge lifted his gravel and slammed it against the bench. "I'm over turning the original verdict and all charges are to be dropped. Ms. Phelps, you're free to go."

xxxXXXxxx

_August 19th 1400_

"Ms. Rossi." James Sinclair stood up as she came into his office, walking from behind his desk to take her hands with a familiarity she found both off putting yet oddly reassuring. "Please accept my condolences over recent events."

"Thank you, Mr. Sinclair."

"Please, call me James. Won't you sit down?"

"Thank you." She sat down on the edge of a leather sofa, glancing around the large office, at the view of the imposing New York sky line, visible through the windows.

"Will there be anything else, sir?"

"Could you bring us some coffee, Howard?" James Sinclair walked back behind his desk. "And ask Julie to join us."

xxxXXXxxx

He slumped against the door of the cell, resting his forehead against the bars. He smiled grimly. The way things were going, he'd be lucky if he saw anything other than bars for the next twenty years or so.

He sighed heavily, his smile fading. This was all his fault. He'd fucked things up, fucked things up for all of them.

Again.

If only…

If only he hadn't opened his fucking stupid mouth, talked her into going back to that drunken abusive asshole. If only she hadn't listened to him. If only…

If only his father wasn't…hadn't been a drunken abusive asshole.

He should have done it. It should have been him. He should have been a man and done it himself.

He'd fucked things up.

Again.

He should have let her walk away, should have let her leave when Jessica wanted her to. Jessica would have known what to do, would have known how to protect her, make sure that bastard couldn't hurt her anymore.

Jessica always knew what to do.

He was the screw up, the fuck up. Always had been, always would be.

This was all his fault.

xxxXXXxxx

_August 18th 1730_

"You want another one, Joe?"

Joseph Rossi nodded, sitting quietly on his stool, in his bar. The same stool he occupied every night until closing time. He knew this bar, he knew the people who drank in here. He liked them.

They treated him with respect.

"Come on, you useless sonofabitch!"

Joseph looked up at the sound of Tom's slightly slurred voice, drawn towards the game on the small screen, angled above the bar.

"What's the score?"

"4-1 to the Sox, top of the fifth." Tom glanced at him quickly, then back at the game, groaning loudly as another decision went against the Yankees. "Who the fuck taught you to pitch?"

"They're playing like a team of old women this year."

"They always play like a team of old women."

The bar shook with a brief rumble of laughter, attention quickly drawn back to the game.

Joseph scowled and finished his beer, signalling for another drink. Suddenly his odds weren't looking so good.

xxxXXXxxx

_August 18th 2330_

"I did it." Jason looked around, straining his neck, desperate to keep his eyes on at least one of them. "I shot him."

"No you didn't." Baldwin stopped his pacing, leaning over Jason's shoulder, his voice soft and menacing. "We know you're lying."

"I'm not."

Clarke smiled, almost sympathetically. "You ever hear of a CSI, Jason?"

Trapped between them, Jason cringed, shaking his head.

"They got this test they do, called a GSR Test. It tells them if a person has fired a gun or not." Clarke leaned across the table. "Yours came back negative."

"We know you're lying."

"Who are you trying to protect, Jason? It'll go a lot better for you if you get in front of this now."

"Cant you just…" His voice caught and he coughed, harsh and loud in the small room. "Forget about that? It should be me" He dropped his head into his hands, covering his face with his hands. "He deserved it. It should have been me."

xxxxXXXxxx

_August 19th 1530_

"Would you like a soda or something, Mrs. Rossi?" Clarke walked over to the other side of the table, pulling out a chair for her. "Maybe something to eat?"

Rubbing warily at her wrists, Joanna Rossi sat down. "Maybe some water." She seemed small, nervous, frightened of them, trying to sink back, through her chair.

"I'll go get it." Baldwin walked out of the room, closing the door carefully behind him.

Clarke smiled at her, trying to reassure her, put her at ease. "Why don't you tell me what happened last night?"

"Last night?"

He nodded. "When your husband got home from the bar." His voice soft, persuasive.

Joanna nodded, moving her chair a little closer to the table, their heads close together, almost conspiratorial, her mouth open to speak.

The door of the room opened and Clarke glanced quickly over his shoulder, expecting to see his partner back with Mrs. Rossi's water. She wanted to talk, wanted to get it off her chest. It would be easy to push her over the edge.

He saw a woman, her eyes dark and burning as her gaze swept across them. "Mrs. Rossi, don't say anything more."

"Who are you?"

She walked around the table, pulling out the other chair and sitting down. "I'm Julie Phelps. Mrs. Rossi's attorney."

xxxXXXxxx

She was so tired.

What a fucking day. Her mother, her brother, her job, Jim…

Her father. She missed him, suddenly, with an ache that left her guilt ridden.

The door knocked, hesitant and nervous..

She ignored it, still on the couch, praying that whoever it was would take the hint and go away. She didn't feel strong enough…

The door knocked again, harder.

Maybe it was…

She walked quickly over to the door and glanced through the peephole, frowned and then opened the door.

Nick Potter stood outside her apartment. "Hey, Jess."

"Hey Nick. What are you doing here?"

He shifted nervously from foot to foot, playing with his tie, glancing over his shoulder. "I was just on my way home from work and I thought I'd stop by. Just to see how you were holding up." He held out a bag. "I brought you some dinner."

Automatically she reached for it, the aroma of Chinese food washing over her.

"Thanks, Nick. You didn't need to do this."

"It's okay." He smiled, the action doing a lot to ease the weariness in his face, lift the exhaustion lying across his shoulders. He'd come straight from work, she realised, still wearing his suit, the tie loosened in a vain effort to combat the heat. He nodded at the food. "You should go eat that before it gets cold."

"Oh right. Just let me get my purse."

"It's okay, Jess." He raised his hands, backing away from her. "It's on me."

"Thanks, Nick."

"Anytime."

He smiled again and walked off, leaving her standing in the doorway of her apartment.

A sudden thought occurred to her and she ran to the stairwell, still clutching the bag of food. "Nick!"

He looked up, half way down the stairs. "Yeah?"

"Who caught the Rodgers case?"

"I did."

"You don't need to go to trial. I think he'll take a deal. Offer him three to five and I think his lawyer will talk him into taking it."

"Okay. Thanks, Jess."

She smiled down at him, a genuine smile for the first time in a day, feeling her spirits, her guilt lighten. "Anytime."

**End of Chapter Four**

_Please, Read and Review._


	5. Chapter 5

-1Hey Guys!

A huge thank you to everyone that has read and reviewed so far

**Chapter Five**

_August 19th 1900_

"Did you shoot your husband, Mrs. Rossi?"

"Don't answer that, Mrs. Rossi." Julie looked around the interrogation room, favouring both Clarke and Jones with a coldly superior smile. "Do you have any evidence linking my client to this shooting or is this just a fishing expedition?"

"We have more than enough evidence linking your client to it, Ms. Phelps." Jim kept his voice cold, careful to keep his distance, wary of her and her tricks. She had already caught them by surprise once, turning up when she did.

Mrs. Rossi had refused her phone call. How the hell had Julie Phelps known?

"Really, Mr. Steele?" She turned that beautifully cold smile on him. "Or are you just looking for another domestic homicide to prosecute?"

"Was your husband drunk when he came home?"

Joanna waited for Julie's nod before she answered. "Yes."

"Did he drink a lot?"

"Yes. But it wasn't like that, not like you're thinking. He just…he worked so hard to support me and the kids, he just needed something to blow off some steam before he came home."

"Just blowing off some steam, eh?" Clarke shifted in his seat, glancing at his partner, raising his eyebrows. "Did he ever hit you when he was drunk?"

Again, Joanna Rossi waited for Julie's nod before she answered. "Sometimes."

"Where did the gun come from, Mrs. Rossi?"

"I don't know…"

"Did you and your son plan this together?"

"That's enough, Detective Jones!"

"He's already rolled on you, Mrs. Rossi. How do you think we knew where you'd be?"

"He didn't…he wouldn't…"

"That's enough." Julie Phelps stood up. "We're leaving. Now."

"Leaving?" Clarke bit back on a bitter laugh. "Your client is the one of the prime suspects in a homicide! She's not going anywhere!"

"So charge her! Show me the more than enough evidence you have, the more than enough evidence you need to convict a widow. I'll have a bail hearing scheduled for first thing in the morning."

"No." Jim shook his head, thinking quickly. "Her daughter is a District Attorney. Bind Mrs Rossi over to her care."

xxxXXXxxx

_July 22nd_

"Hello?"

"Hey, Ma, it's Jessica. I need to talk to you."

"What's wrong?"

"Jason talked to me, the other day, about you and Dad."

"Everything's fine between your father and me, honey."

"He's really worried, Ma. So am I?"

"There's nothing to worry about. Everything's okay."

"Is he still drinking?"

There was a moments silence on the other end of the phone. Her mother's voice, when she spoke again, was laced with the old familiar stubbornness and acceptance.

"He's trying to cut down."

"Why don't you come stay with me, Ma? Just for a few day?"

"No, Jessica."

"Please, Ma."

"No."

xxxXXXxxx

_August 20th 0900_

"You did what?"

Nick paused, his hand on the door of the Conference Room, straining to hear.

"I bound Joanna Rossi over to Jessica's authority."

"Why?"

"What else was I supposed to do, Alexandra? Let Julie Phelps turn a bail hearing into a media circus?"

Nick smiled and pushed open the door. "Good morning, Mr Clements." He shook hands with the other man. "My name's Nick Potter."

"Where's ADA Rossi?"

"I'll be handling this case from now on." Nick sat down opposite him, making a show of opening the file, at glancing at his own hand written notes. "I've reviewed the evidence, and I don't believe that there is any need for this case to go to court."

Relief and cautious optimism chased each other across Mr. Clements' face. "You don't?"

"I'm prepared to offer your client a deal. Three to five years."

"I could get him acquitted in court."

"You could. He could also get five to seven years at trial." Nick sat back, the same arrogant, confident pose he had seen Jim and Brian adopt so many times. "It's up to you."

Mr Clements bit nervously on his lip, nodded once, and stood. "I'll talk to my client, and recommend he take the deal. Thank you, Mr. Potter."

Nick stood, shaking hands with Mr Clements, wishing he could feel something other than cold betrayal, wishing he could do something other than twist the knife in her back. It was her case.

It should have been Jessica that closed it

xxxXXXxxx

_August 19th, 0100_

She couldn't feel her hands, restrained behind her back, the metal cuffs biting into her flesh.

"Sign here, Detective."

Detective Clarke leaned across the desk, scribbling his name across the bottom of the sheet. The other one, Detective Jones stayed with her, his large hand on her shoulder.

The Desk Sergeant's eyes roamed across her, cold, filled with contempt. "Who've we got here, anyway, Detective?"

"Joanna Rossi. Wanted for questioning in relation to a homicide."

The Sergeant snorted, lifting the clipboard to check the signature. "She doesn't seem like the type."

"What's open?"

"I got space in two."

Detective Jones grunted, pushing her forward. She went blindly, stumbling numbly forward, her mind still reeling, fixated by the memory of him, the smell of alcohol on his breath.

Her ears still ringing.

"Stop."

She felt Jones fumble with the cuffs and then her hands were free, the blood rushing back into her cold hands, pins and needles springing up in her fingers.

"Open up two."

The Sergeant opened the door, the locks screaming like gunshots. A sudden rush of heat, the sour smell of sweat, of too many bodies pressed in together, washed over her, her stomach lurching.

What had she done?

"What the fuck? Ah no, man, you cant put anyone else in here! There's too many in here!"

The Sergeant rattled his nightstick off the bars of the cell. "Shut up Louisa."

Jones ignored the chorus of cat calls and insults. "Move forward."

Dully, blindly, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, forcing her legs to work, stumbling into the cell, the smell and the heat almost overpowering, the noises fading to dull echoes of gunshots.

What had she done?

The door shut behind her.

xxxXXXxxx

_August 20th 1800_

He drummed his fingers against the wall, listening to the echo of the ringing telephone. Glancing over his shoulder, toying nervously with his tie. Looking back at the table. Just another night.

They didn't even seem to notice that she wasn't there.

Buying him drinks for closing a case she had done the work on.

No one seemed to notice that she wasn't there. No one cared what she was going through. What they were putting her through.

She should have been there.

"Hey, you've reached…"

"Hey, Rook!" Brian's voice cut clearly, easily through the noise and din of the bar. "What the Hell are you doing? Game's about to start."

"Yeah, yeah." Nick hung up, cutting off the answering machine message, sighing ruefully. He shook his head and started to thread his way through the crowd towards the bar.

He glanced back, over his shoulder, at the silent and dead pay phone.

He wondered if she would answer the next time he called.

**End of Chapter Five**

_Please Read and Review._


	6. Chapter 6

-1Hey Guys!

Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed so far!

**Chapter Six**

_August 18th 2000_

She couldn't even look at him, his sightless eyes following her around their ruined living room, accusing, judgemental.

'How the hell could you do this to me?'

What the hell was she going to do now?

Horrified, she realised she was still holding the gun, and she let it fall to the carpet, dropping it from nerveless fingers, backing away from it, shaking. Still hearing the retort, the shock rushing up her arm.

The expression on his face as the bullet hit him, the horrified surprise.

What was she going to do?

She snatched the phone off the cradle, backing away as she dialled, backing away until she felt the wall pressed against her back, pressing against last nights bruises. Listening to the phone ring, counting the heart beats.

"Hello?" His voice sounded thick, almost drowned out, lost beneath the noise of the bar, so like his fathers that she couldn't answer. "Hello?"

"Jason?" She found her voice. "Jason, its your mother."

"Ma? What's wrong?"

"Something terrible has happened. It's your father. He was drunk…and I found…and I…" Her voice trailed away, her courage breaking beneath the reality of what had happened.

Beneath the reality of what she had done. Guilt settling across her shoulders like an anchor.

"Are you okay?"

"I don't know." She stared at the slumped body, flinching as she thought she saw it move. "I'm going to phone the police."

"No! Don't phone the police! I'm on my way over to your place, Ma. Don't do anything until I get there. I'll take care of everything when I get there."

xxXXXxxx

_August 21st 0900_

"Clayton?" James Sinclair turned in his chair, nursing his early morning coffee. "Where are we with the Thompson case?"

"I have a meeting with Casey Novak this morning."

"Is she going to go for a deal?"

"I don't think so." Clayton adjusted his glasses. "She's got a strong case and Mr. Thompson did have a history of violence towards the victim. It could be tough to pull this one out of the fire."

Sinclair nodded, taking another mouthful of coffee. "Julie? Any progress with the Rossi homicide?"

"Mrs Rossi was released to her daughter's custody last night. I'm trying to arrange a meeting with Jim Steele for later today."

"Have you picked a second chair yet?"

Julie nodded. "I'd like Michelle, if that's possible." She smiled at the young woman across the table.

"Okay." Michelle Sinclair made a note in the diary in front of her. "I'll clear my schedule."

James Sinclair smiled indulgently at his niece, then glanced around the rest of the table. "Any other business? Then we're done here."

xxxXXXxxx

"Can I help you, Miss?"

"I'm just…" Jessica glanced around the shop, at the ornately, expensively arranged wreaths. "I need…"

He smiled patiently. "I understand, Miss. Its often overwhelming when one finds oneself in this situation. Please, sit down. Would you like some coffee?"

Numb, Jessica sat down on a small wooden chair, surrounded by flowers, their perfume almost sickeningly cloying. Overwhelming?

Maybe. Just not in the way he thought.

He sat down opposite her, a small folder balanced on his knee. "We offer a number of different services, at a very competitive rate."

"I just need the basic."

"But we can…."

She cut smoothly, coldly across him. "I just need the basic deal."

His smile froze on his face. "Okay. Just the basic." He started to shuffle through the papers. "When would you like the service to be held?"

"As soon as possible. At St. Marks Chapel."

They had been married there. It only seemed right that her mother escaped from him there.

"Is there…."

"Whatever you think." She stood up, sharply, abruptly. "I'll leave it to you."

He wrote swiftly on his page, the scratching of his pen the only sound in the silent shop. He tore the page off and handed it to her. She glanced at it briefly, then scribbled her signature at the bottom, fumbling in her purse for the her credit card.

"Who is the service for?"

"My father."

"Your father? I'm sure we can work something out, Miss Rossi. Something more appropriate for your father."

Her eyes flashed dark with anger, her skin cold and pale. "Just do what I've asked."

xxxXXXxxx

_July 30th_

The table was silent, apart from the scrape of cutlery against the plates.

"How's work going, dear?"

Joanna Rossi, struggling to make enough conversation for all of them.

"Okay. I'm in court again tomorrow." Jessica didn't look up, concentrating on her meal, refusing to meet her father's eyes. She could feel his gaze, dark and burning with anger, cutting through her.

"What case is it?"

"She cant talk about it, Joanna." Joseph's voice was harsh, cruel. "You know she cant."

Joanna flinched as if he'd struck her. "I was only asking, Joseph."

"You ask her every time and she tells you the same answer every time. Listen once in a while. You might learn something."

"Calm down, Dad."

"She never listens." Joseph glared at his wife, who paled and looked down, staring at her plate. "She never has."

xxxXXXxxx

_August 21st_

"Can I help you, Sir?"

"Yes. I'd like to order a wreath please."

"Certainly sir." He moved smoothly, easily behind the counter. "Any particular colour or style."

Nick shrugged, his fingers toying with his loosened tie. "I don't know." He reached up, running a finger across one of the arrangements. "What do you recommend?"

The practised, reassuring, caring smile came easily to his face. "Who is the service for?"

"Its for a collea…for a friend's father. He…ehm…"

"I understand, sir. I would suggest something in red or black, maybe in a circular pattern or a cross arrangement."

"I want something understated. I don't want…." Nick's voice trailed off as he stared at the arrangement at the side of the shop, the name visible in the middle of it.

"Sir?"

Nick pointed at it with shaking fingers. "That…"

"Ah yes, sir. That is for a forthcoming service." He frowned. "Is that what you had in mind? It's not really understated."

"No…Who ordered that wreath?"

"It's the family wreath."

"I think I know them."

xxxXXXxxx

She walked past him like a returning queen, a graceful sway in her hips. Sitting down elegantly, crossing her legs, adjusting her skirt. Everything about her poised and perfect.

He closed the door and walked across to his desk. "Lets stop pretending that you can win."

She smiled at him, coldly beautiful. "I can win."

"It's a simple case. A woman shoots her husband dead, with an illegally acquired weapon and then tries to cover up the crime."

"My case is equally simple, Mr. Steele. An abused wife shoots her tormenter dead and then panics. Her son tries to protect her in the only way he can." She leaned forward, still smiling. "There isn't a person who wont sympathise."

"I disagree. I think they'll see the same thing as they saw with you."

She laughed. "All this time, Mr. Steele and you still don't understand women. Is it any wonder things keep slipping through your fingers?"

Jim rolled his eyes, deciding to ignore her dart. "The DA's Office does not want to drag this family through the courts if it can be avoided. We're prepared to offer Mrs Rossi a deal."

Julie sat back, folding her hands in her lap, raising an eyebrow.

"Murder Two."

She laughed, briefly, shaking her head. "You're insane, Mr. Steele."

"We've got a strong case, Ms. Phelps. The facts speak for themselves."

"And I've told you before, Mr. Steele, the facts aren't important." She stood up. "I guess I'll see you in court."

He walked from behind his desk, opening the door for her. "You should tell your client to accept the deal."

"I don't need advice from you."

She was standing close to him, too close to him in the small cramped office. Close enough for him to smell her perfume, for him to feel her breath against his skin.

"You owe it to your client."

So close now. He fought against the urge to run his hand through her hair. Almost lifting his hand…

"This is hardly appropriate behaviour, Mr. Steele." She stepped away from him, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "I guess somethings never change."

"Murder Two, Julie." He stepped away from her, trying to cover his embarrassment and anger. "Remember what happened the last time you went up against me in court."

The door slammed shut behind her.

**End of Chapter Six**

_Please, Read And Review._

_The conversation between Jim and Julie in this chapter is deliberately similar to their conversation in Episode Ten. I just thought it was funny!_


	7. Chapter 7

-1Hey Guys,

Once again, thank you to everyone that has read and reviewed so far. I hope you're all still enjoying the story.

**Chapter Seven**

_August 22nd 0900_

"He's offered a deal." Julie leaned back in her chair, watching Joanna Rossi over the top of her folded fingers. The woman looked drained, her eyes dark and haunted. "Murder two."

"Murder two?" Jessica gripped her mother's hand tightly, her voice clipped and angry. "You cant possibly…."

"What does that mean, Ms. Phelps?"

Julie sighed. "It means jail time, Joanna. At least ten years, although I doubt if you'd serve anywhere near the full term."

"Is it a good deal?"

"It will spare you a trial, spare you from having to relive all of this in court." She hesitated, unwanted memories rushing through her. "But it means that no one gets to hear your side of the story. You'll be judged on his."

"You can't take the deal, Ma." Jessica shook her head, almost desperate. "You can't! He's not worth that much time. He's done enough to hurt you already. You cant let him win again."

"We've got a strong case, Joanna. Jim Steele's running scared. He's got a shaky case and he knows it. If we put up a strong enough fight, he might come back with a better offer."

"And if he doesn't?"

"Then we go to trial. There's every chance that all charges will be dropped."

"And a good chance that my mother will go to jail for murdering that bastard."

"If she takes the deal, she'll definitely go to jail." Julie met Jessica's gaze evenly. "I can beat Jim Steele."

"You didn't last time."

Her smile turned bitter. "Times change, Jessica."

"What about my son?" Joanna cut across them a distracted air.

"One of my associates is meeting with him this morning. We're hopeful that we can work out a deal for him. What do you want to do, Joanna?"

"You think I should fight this?"

"I do."

"Then we'll fight." Joanna Rossi blew a breath between pursed lips, looking around the table for reassurance that she had made the right decision. "Tell Jim Steele we don't want the deal."

xxxXXXxxx

"Who are you?"

She stood up as he was brought into the room. "Mr. Rossi, my name is Michelle Sinclair, from Sinclair and Associates. We've been retained to represent you and your mother."

He sat down opposite her, massaging his wrists as the guard left the room, closing the door after him. "Did Jess hire you?"

"Yes." She sat down, fidgeting nervously, playing with her pen. "I need to ask you some questions, Mr. Rossi. Is that okay?"

"Okay."

"How long were your parents married?"

Jason laughed bitterly. "A lot longer than they should have been." He sobered rapidly, running his hand across his hair with tight jerking motions. "A lot longer than Jess wanted them to be."

"Did they argue a lot?"

"Not so much arguing." Jason ran his hand through his hair again, the same tight, restrained gesture. "Ma never stood up to him, not until…." He shrugged, shifting uncomfortably. "He just picked her apart."

"What did he do?"

"Is that important?"

Michelle nodded. Julie's instructions had been very clear. She wanted to be able to paint a picture of a bullying abusive husband if it came to trial.

"He just picked on her. Took the piss out of her. Made her feel like a piece of shi, ya know? And she took it. Christ, it drove Jess mad!"

"Did he ever hit her?"

"Yeah." His laugh was empty, riddled with guilt and self loathing. "Yeah, he used to hit her."

xxxXXXxxx

"Counsellor."

"Detective Messer." Jim opened the door carefully, balancing a stack of files and his coffee cup. "Have a seat." He flicked the door of the office shut behind them with his foot and walked behind his desk, finding space on his overcrowded desk for the files. "I need your statements from the Rossi homicide, plus all the forensic evidence you have."

Danny nodded. "We should have everything wrapped up by the end of the week."

"Good." Jim took a mouthful of coffee, grimacing at the bitter, acrid taste. It was already too hot in his office, the air thick and humid. "I'm going to need that evidence if it goes to trial."

He was going to need that evidence, in case Julie Phelps had another trick up her sleeve.

"You think it's going to go to trial."

"She shot her husband, Danny. We've got to follow the evidence, you know that." He shifted, uncomfortably in his seat, using his coffee cup as a shield. "I'm hoping it wont go to trial. We've offered her a deal."

"Is she going to go for it?"

Jim shrugged, picked up his pen and opened a file, starting to read through the statement by Detective Baldwin, conscious of Danny sitting opposite him. "Something on your mind, Danny?"

"Counsellor…"

He looked up, eyes dark with anger and frustration. Danny fell silent and looked away from him, shaking his head. "I need your statement and the paperwork by Friday, Detective." Jim pointed at the office door with his pen. "And tell Detective Munroe I need hers as well."

xxxXXXxxx

_July 25th_

Where was he going to put it?

He could hear them downstairs, hear the low rumble of conversation, the under current of tension and menace in his father's voice, the tremble of tension in his mothers.

He had seen the faint bruise on his mother's cheek that even make up couldn't conceal.

He didn't have much time.

He could feel it, hidden at the small of his back, pressed against his skin.

Looking around, frantic, panicked. Its weight threatening to expose itself, expose him.

Where was he….

There.

He opened the drawer and pulled it out from underneath his light jacket, weighing it carefully in his hand. It was heavier than he had expected, a dead weight in the palm of his hand.

He wondered what it would be like to fire.

Raised voices from downstairs cut through his thoughts. Glancing guiltily over his shoulder, he tucked it under some clothes at the back of the drawer, rearranging the clothes over the top of it, and shoved the door closed.

He straightened, adjusting his jacket, taking another look around the empty room, listening to his parents in the room below.

He'd make sure she wasn't at home when he came back for it.

xxxXXXxxx

He fell silent, watching her as she wrote, her pen scratching across the page.

"I think that's all for now, Jason." She scanned the page and handed it across to him. "If you could just read that and sign it for me."

"Have you got a pen?"

Face flushed, she handed him her pen, watching as he signed his statement without reading it.

"What about my mother?"

"She's been released to your sister's custody." Michelle took the page off him and glanced at it, making sure he had signed it in the right place. "We've got a strong case and this will help us a lot. Thank you."

"What about me?"

"I don't know." She stood up, lifting her briefcase. "I'll have to talk to my boss."

xxxXXXxxx

"Where is he?" Baldwin flashed his shield at the bartender, while Clarke looked around the bar.

"Over there."

"Thanks." Baldwin glanced at his partner and they walked across to the table, footsteps echoing around the mostly empty bar, spreading out to stand either side of him.

"And what can I do for you, gentlemen?"

"We've got some questions for you."

xxxXXXxx

"What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to do some digging, Sam. I want to know what sort of man Joseph Rossi was. Where he drank. Who his friends were. What his debts were. Look at the cops and the CSIs as well, see if there's anything we can use to discredit their testimony."

"Anything else?"

"Yeah." Julie's eyes glittered in amusement. "I want to know how Jim Steele is."

**End of Chapter Seven**

_Please Read And Review!_


	8. Chapter 8

-1Hey Guys,

Thanks again to everyone who has read and reviewed

**Chapter Eight**

_August 1st_

The house was silent.

Peaceful

It was easy to forget the hell her life, her marriage had turned into, just remember the good times, remember how things were when they first got married.

Joanna hummed to herself as she cleaned, something that had been playing on the radio at Grabloffs when she had been doing the shopping. Just a silly little song about falling in love and living happily ever after.

Joseph would have turned the radio off, called the song a day dream, called her stupid to be thinking of happily ever afters when she was old enough to know better.

Her smile faded. Happily ever after? Real life wasn't like that.

She carefully folded some clothes, balancing them across her arm, carrying them up the stairs to their room. Joseph liked things to be put away in their proper place, didn't like things lying around his house.

His house. It was always his house, his rules for all of them. How many times had he told their children "not in my house?"

Was it any wonder their children hated them?

She opened the drawer in their room, looking back at the pile of clothes, sorting through them with her free hand. Wondering how she would fit more things into the oddly over crowded drawer. Sighing, she started to move some things aside, trying to make more room.

Her hand brushed against something cold and hard. She drew back, almost dropping the pile of clothes. Her eyes drawn to the hard, evil, dark shape, hidden at the back of the drawer. She lifted it out, her hand shaking.

It was lighter than she had expected, fitting perfectly into the palm of her hand. Crying out to her, pleading with her to pull the trigger. Pull the trigger. Pullthetriggerpullthetriggerpullthetrigger.

Hurriedly, she dropped it in the drawer, wiping her hand on her trousers. It lay there, innocently evil. The answer to all her problems. Her salvation. Her escape.

What if he found it? Was it his?

She covered it quickly, smoothing the clothes down across it, pushing the drawer shut.

Giving it one last longing look, she walked out of the room.

xxxXXXxxx

_August 24th_

Graveyards were always cold.

Jessica shivered, despite the sun shinning brightly overhead, feeling a chill bite through her dress as she watched the coffin draw closer, the bright and vivid flowers of the cortege the only colour in the washed out, faded graveyard.

Joanna stood next to her, cold fingers interlaced through hers, staring fixedly at the coffin, her face pale, eyes rimmed with red. Jason stood on the other side of their mother, his arm around her shoulders, rigid and uncomfortable in his dark suit. Trying to ignore the uniformed cop standing just behind him.

Jessica gritted her teeth as the Priest started to speak, his practised voice sliding through the stillness. Gritted her teeth as she heard her mother start to sob, shoulders shaking with her grief.

Gritted her teeth as she heard the cameras, saw the photographers scrambling, fighting amongst themselves to get the best picture they could of a grieving widow, accused of murder. No matter what Jim Steele did, people would always remember the image of Joanna Rossi, crying as her husband was buried.

Jessica was dry eyed. She had promised herself that she would shed no tears for her father.

xxxXXXxxx

"Christina!" Jim walked into her office, his face twisted with anger, eyes dark and shadowed. "Where are the files I asked for?"

"On your desk."

"These aren't the files I asked for."

"You asked for all the domestic homicides that had gone to trial in the last five years."

"I asked for all the domestic homicides were the defence had used spousal abuse as the cornerstone of their case. I don't have time to go through all these." Jim threw the folders onto her desk, the tottering pile spilling across the wooden surface. "Can you get me what I've asked for?"

"Yes, Jim." Christina looked down, refusing to meet his eyes, cheeks stained with embarrassment. "Sorry." She gathered up the files as he walked off, muttering to himself, the rest of the Bureau careful to stay out of his way.

Brian appeared at the door of her office, shirt sleeves rolled up, tie haphazardly strung around his neck. "You okay, Finney?"

"Yeah." She didn't look up, opening the first file, paging through it.

"Don't worry about Steele." Brian smiled at her, the ineffectual fan stirring his crumpled shirt. "He's like this before every murder trial. It's just…with Jess and Julie Phelps, he's tighter than normal. Don't let him get to you. He'll settle down once the trial starts."

Jim's voice echoed loudly around the office. "Where the fuck is Potter?"

xxxXXXxxx

_July 7th_

Jessica slammed the phone down hard, the shock passing up the palm of her hand. "Fuck!"

"Problems?"

She glared at him, sitting at the other desk, paging through a case file. "What, you eavesdropping on my phone calls now?"

Nick shrugged, not looking up. "Hard not to when you're shouting down the phone. I almost feel sorry for the guy."

"My brother's an asshole."

"You know, I think I heard that." The faintest hint of a smile ghosted across his face as he looked up, and she smiled back. "You want to go get a coffee or something? Tell me what he did this time?"

"No, it's okay." Se felt the tension raised by Jason's phone call start to slip away. "I have to meet him for lunch anyway, I can shout at him then. But thanks."

"Anytime."

xxxXXXxxx

_August 24th_

"What did he give us?"

"He gives us Jason Rossi buying the gun." Clarke flicked back through his notebook. "Sometime mid July. He wasn't too clear on the date. Says all he did was sell him the gun, and that was the last contact he had with him."

"How does he know it was Jason?" He tried to glance at his watch, tried to hide it from the two watching detectives.

He wondered how she was.

"Picked him out of a photo line up." Baldwin Jones bit back a snort of laughter. "Went straight to him."

Jim glanced quickly at his watch again, shivering in sympathy, despite the heat of his office. "Will he testify that Rossi bought an unlicensed firearm from him?"

Clarke and Jones exchanged careful glances. "If we give him a walk on some other charges, yeah."

"Good." Jim made a note on the case file, another piece of evidence against Joanna Rossi and her son. Glancing again at his watch. "I want this case as strong as we can make it."

"It's going to trial, then."

Jim nodded. "She turned the deal down."

xxxXXXxxx

He moved down the line, trying to smile encouragingly when he reached her. "Hello, Jess."

"What are you doing here?"

He gripped her hands tightly, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. "Where else would I be?"

The touch of his lips, of his hands, the only warmth she could feel in her body.

"Thank you for coming."

"Are you okay?" He flushed as soon as the words were out of his mouth, cursing himself for his inadequate words. "I'm sorry, Jess, I didn't mean…."

"It's okay." She almost smiled, almost laughed, stepping closer to him. Grateful for his

presence, for something real to focus on. "I think that's the first time anyone's asked since this all started."

He smiled, staring at the flowers surrounding the grave. "You want to go get a drink or something?"

"I cant, Nick. My mother…"

"It's okay."

"I'd like to." Her voice shot with her desperation. "But I cant, its…"

"I know." Nick shrugged, scratching his jaw, fingering the knot of his dark tie. "Maybe another time."

She didn't answer, her attention focused on her brother, cuffs around his wrists, gleaming silver against his dark suit.

xxxXXXxxx

"What can I get you?"

"A beer and a shot."

The drinks appeared in front of him and he lifted the shot, turning the glass through his fingers, savouring the change in colour as it caught the light. Then he shrugged, dismissing the thought, drinking it, grimacing as the fiery liquid stung his throat, slamming the empty glass down on the bar.

Jim lifted his beer and took a drink, swaying slightly on his stool as the alcohol coursed through his system, swimming through his veins.

He wondered how she was, if she was okay. If she hated him as much as he hated himself.

He saw her, then, at the far end of the bar. Sitting alone. Nursing a drink, her face illuminated by one of the small candles scattered around the bar.

Just for a moment, in the flickering light, her face caressed by shadows, she almost looked like…

"Another one, buddy?"

"Yeah." Jim fumbled in his pocket for his wallet. "And one for that girl over there. Tell her its from me."

**End of Chapter Eight.**


	9. Chapter 9

-1Hey Guys,

Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed so far!

**Chapter Nine**

_August 25th 0800_

He woke slowly, the incessant hammering against his front door finally penetrating through the haze surrounding him. He rolled over in bed, his temples throbbing, wishing that whoever was outside would take the hint and leave, reaching out for her….

She was gone, her side of the bed empty and cold, the scent of her perfume clinging to his sheets and his pillows like a memory.

The hammering continued, pounding against his door.

Jim groaned and forced himself to get out of bed, stumbling towards the door, his stomach lurching with every step he took, nausea twisting inside his gut like a living thing. "Just a second!" His voice cracked and scratched, barbed wire lining his throat.

How much had he had to drink?

He stumbled through the living room of his apartment, the empty bottle and two glasses standing in mute testament to the night before. The rim of one of the glasses was rimmed with her lipstick.

His stomach turned again, disturbed by the thought of alcohol. He pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping to clear his still throbbing head, his mouth tasting of alcohol and cigarettes.

He remembered lighting a cigarette for her. Remembered tasting it later, on her lips.

He opened the door. "Alex?"

She stood outside his apartment, carelessly dressed, her hair still messy from sleep, a folded newspaper under her arm. She took one look at his dishevelled appearance and swept past him, her stride quick and angry.

"Wont you come in?" He closed the door after her, running a hand across his face, scratching at his unshaven jaw. "What's going on?"

It was the first time in years he had seen her without her mask, stripped bare of what she pretended to be.

The first time in months he had seen her without her engagement ring.

She thrust the paper at him with a shaking hand. "You want to explain this to me?"

Jim took one look at the headline and groaned, covering his face with his hand.

Julie Phelps had played him again.

xxxXXXxxx

_August 20th_

He smiled when they led him into the room. "Hey sis!"

"Hey." Jessica hesitated for just a second, then stood and embraced her brother, not caring that the CO was still there, could see them. Somehow, keeping her job separate from her family didn't seem to matter any more. "Are you okay?"

Jason shrugged, sitting down opposite her, an odd smile on his face. "Bout as okay as I can be."

She had been here so many times, but never like this, never in this situation. "You want a drink or something?"

He shrugged again. "Coke would be good."

She glanced at the CO, trying to make her voice as hard and as cold as she could. "Can we get a coke here?"

Jason waited until the guard left the room. "How's Ma doing?"

"Okay." Jessica lowered her voice, feeling like a child, whispering secrets in the dark. "They released her to my custody last night."

"What are we going to do?"

"I've hired an attorney. To represent you and Ma."

He shook his head. "I cant afford that, Jess. Just make sure.."

"Doesn't matter."

"Jess…"

"I said it doesn't matter. You're my brother, Jason. I'm not going to leave you here, not because of that bastard. Just give me some time. I'll take care of everything."

xxxXXXxx

_August 25th_

Bright sunshine woke her the day after her father's funeral, peeking through the curtains, caressing her face with its light and warmth. She couldn't decide if she found the gesture mocking or not.

She rolled over in bed, resting her cheek against her folded hands, letting the warmth of the early morning sun seep into her bones.

The first day since the funeral. The first day since…

Everything had changed.

She had spent so long, building walls around herself, building walls to keep her family and her jobs separate. She hadn't wanted Jim to see what her family had been like, didn't want to see the sympathy in Christina's eyes, didn't want to see the understanding in Brian's.

Definitely didn't want Alex fucking Cabot to know, to have something else to use, something else to make her feel inadequate.

But he…he didn't care. Didn't care about appearances, didn't care what it looked like. He didn't care about the walls she'd tried so hard to build around herself. It didn't matter to him.

And maybe it didn't matter to her anymore, either.

xxxXXXxxx

_August 3rd_

Did he know about it? Had he found it? Had he moved it? Was it his?

Joanna pulled open the drawer, sighing in relief as she moved the clothes away. It was still there, lying undisturbed, black and evil, coiled and waiting. Just where she had left it.

She glanced warily over her shoulder and lifted it out of the drawer. Slipping into a firing stance, just like she had seen the cops do on TV.

It felt lighter than it had done yesterday. Easier to aim, to control. Her finger tightened involuntarily around the trigger and she had to fight against the urge to squeeze it tight.

Easier to fire

Would it be easy to shoot him?

Would she be able to pull the trigger?

Maybe things would get better. Maybe this time, if he saw she was serious, he really would change.

Maybe this time…maybe this time, she'd be able to escape.

Her hand shaking, she put it back into the drawer, covering it over again. Giving the clothes a last lingering pat. Unable to stop herself smiling.

She pushed the drawer closed and walked out of the room.

She knew where it was if she needed it.

xxxXXXxxx

_August 25th_

"Oh shit." Jim let the newspaper fall onto the table, almost knocking over the lipstick smeared glass. He sank onto the couch, covering his face with his hands, his headache pounding fiercely. "Shit. Shit."

"She played you, Jim." Alex sat down next to him, lifting the Post again, scanning the headline article. "Again."

"I know."

"Deputy District Attorney Jim Steele admitted that the case against Joanna Rossi should not have been allowed to go to trial and that he believed a political agenda, rather than a desire for justice, was motivating the District Attorney's Office." Alex threw the paper down. "This is bad, Jim."

"I know."

"This is the last thing we need at the minute, after the….after what happened. We cant afford any more negative publicity."

"I know." Despite himself, Jim lifted the paper, reading through the article again, every word searing through his brain. "I'll take care of it."

She'd played him. Set him up and played him for a fool. And he'd fallen for it, like a drunken, lovesick fool.

"You'd better. There's more at stake than just this case." Alex fell silent, chewing nervously on her lip. "Offer a deal."

"I've already offered a deal. She rejected it."

"Offer a better one."

"There's no point, Alexandra. We're on the ropes." His eyes fell on the picture of Joanna Rossi at her husband's funeral, flanked and supported by her children. "And she knows it."

Alex rose to her feet, her eyes dark and cold, almost unreadable behind her glasses. "Then you'd better hope you can beat her in court."

xxxXXXxxx

"You're working late tonight."

Julie looked up, her pen hovering above the page. "Just making sure I'm prepared."

Sam Reid walked into her office. "I've got some of that information for you, Julie." Pulling out a notebook, flicking carefully through it. "Lead detectives are John Clarke Jnr and Baldwin Jones."

"Anything on them?"

"Clarke was the subject of an IIB probe a year or so ago. Unlicensed CI." Sam shrugged. "He came out clean. Jones has a few notes in his record about excessive force. One investigation into a shooting in Queens. Came out as accidental."

Julie nodded, biting her lip as she thought. "What about the CSIs?"

"Danny Messer and Lindsay Monroe. Messer has connections to Tanglewood. Monroe has nothing in New York, but I'm looking into her Montana record." Sam closed the notebook and shrugged again. "That's it."

"Good work, Sam." Julie leaned back in her chair, smiling. "I saw the Post this morning."

Sam laughed as she stood, tucking her notebook back inside her jacket. "I know a guy there who owed me a favour." She looked at Julie's desk, at the statements and case photos scattered about it. "They're taking it to court, then?"

Julie nodded. "Monday."

**End of Chapter Nine**

_Please Read and Review._


	10. Chapter 10

-1Hey Guys,

Thank you, once again, to every one that has read and reviewed so far. Hope you're all still enjoying the story.

**Chapter Ten**

_August 28th 0800_

He stood in front of the grave, awkward in his suit and tie, hands buried deeply in his pockets, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. Wandering what he was going to say. Wondering, too, why it had been so important for him to be here.

"Hey Pop."

Jason shifted again, looking hurriedly over his shoulder, looking around the silent empty graveyard.

"They released me on Saturday, Pop, on bail." He scratched at his clean shaven jaw. "I don't know how Jess was able to pay for it. She must have put her apartment up, or got a loan or something. She's really took charge since…."

He fell silent, the sun rising behind him, casting his shadow across his father's grave.

"Mom's been.."

He stopped again, shaking his head, his words swallowed by bitterness and anger. "Why, Pop?" Why did you have to make things this way? Why did you have to treat Mom like that? Why did you have to drive Jess away? Why did you have to make things so damn difficult?"

He stabbed a finger towards the grave, face flushed with anger. "And don't you fucking dare blame it on the drink! I drank with you, you sonofabitch and…"

The anger drained away as quickly as it had come, his hand falling limply to his side, leaving him weary and spent. "I never meant for this to happen, Pop. This is all my fault."

He ran his trembling hand through his hair, the sun already sweltering and warm against his back. "She was going to leave, Pop, did you know that? Jess had talked her into leaving. I made her stay. I made her stay with you. This is all my fault."

The grave didn't answer, remaining silently judgemental, damning, uncaring.

"Its all my fault."

He fell silent, wondering what else there was to say, what else there was to confess.

"She's on trial, Pop. It starts today. Jess has…the lawyer she's hired, she thinks she can win, thinks she can get Mom off." He shrugged, uselessly, helplessly. "I don't know what they're going to do with me. I guess it doesn't matter."

His eyes traced the wreaths, carefully arranged after the service, wondering who would come and tend the grave, knowing his mother would. "You deserved it. Everything you got, you stupid sonofabitch." He turned his back, grief, guilt and anger warring within him, threatening to spill out like drops of blood.

"Be seeing you, Pop."

xxxXXXxxx

The note was brief, terse and to the point.

"My office. ASAP."

Nick knocked on the door of his office. "Jim? You wanted to see me?"

He looked up, his eyes dark and angry. "Yes, I did." He pointed at the chair on the other side of his desk with the end of a pencil. "Close the door. Sit down." He threw a folded copy of the Post across the desk. "Explain that to me."

Nick lifted the paper, his eyes skimming across the photo, his own face clearly visible. He nodded, dropping the paper back onto his desk. So that was what all this was about.

"Well?"

"I went to the funeral."

"Why, Nick? You know that this makes the Bureau look…"

"She's my friend and she's just lost…"

Jim raised his voice talking over his objections. "It makes us look like we're sympathising with a murder suspect."

His temper snapped, as brittle as a twig. "To hell with how the Bureau looks! My friend has just lost her father! Going to the funeral was the least I could do!"

"I realise it's a difficult situation, for all of us, given the circumstances…"

"No, its not. It's not difficult at all! You're stabbing her in the back. You're supposed to be her friend." He laughed bitterly, wondering what Jim could hear in his voice. "Hell, you're supposed to be more than that!" He shifted irritably from foot to foot, toying with his tie. "Are we done?"

"Yeah." Jim looked away from him, the case photos scattered around his office mocking his protests. "Yeah, we're done."

xxxXXXxxx

"All I really need you to do is to look honest." Julie smiled mockingly. "The jury expects lawyers to lie. I need you to look like you've heard Joanna Rossi's story and that you believe her."

"And if I believe it, then they should believe it as well?"

"Exactly. We need to remind the jury that Joanna Rossi is the victim, especially when the people are presenting their case. They're going to play on how they tried to cover up the shooting, the purchase of the weapon, try and paint Joanna as a cold blooded killer."

Just like they had done with her. Just like he had done.

"What about the son? Jason?"

"I might need to put him on the stand, just to paint the family situation as clearly as we can." She shrugged, thinking quickly. "I might need you to take that one."

"Me?"

Julie nodded. "It might sound better coming from you. You're closer to his age and he knows you. His testimony will sound better, less rehearsed, if he's more relaxed."

She fell silent, staring out the window, lost in thought as they drove towards the courthouse.

xxxXXXxxx

_August 5th_

"I realise this must be very difficult for you."

The woman nodded mutely, her face pockmarked with bruises, twisting a tear stained tissue between shaking hands. Her eyes wide and frightened, fixed on Jessica.

"Has he done this before? Has he hurt you like this before?"

She nodded, tears tearing fresh streaks through her make up, through her efforts to hide the beatings. She was barely out of her teens. Too young for what she had been through.

"How many times?"

"Five." The girl's voice was hoarse and it shook as she fought to control her emotions. "Five times. It started at Easter."

"Why didn't you leave? Why didn't you call the cops?"

The girl shrugged as if the thought had never occurred to her. "He promised me he'd change. And I believed him."

xxxXXXxxx

_August 28th 0945_

"Mom! Mom, are you okay?" Jessica took her by the elbow, guiding her mother onto one of the hard uncomfortable chairs outside the court room.

"I'm okay." Joanna pressed the tips of her fingers against the bridge of her nose, letting the noise and the bustle of the court room wash across her. "I just need to sit down for a minute." She leaned back against the wall, grateful for the momentary peace. "Where's your brother?"

"On his way. He phoned this morning, said he had something to do this morning." She took her mother's hand, cold in spite of the heat inside the court house. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"No." Joanna's smile was humourless. "I'm terrified. I feel like I'm going to be sick." Her face paled, sweat beading on her forehead. "Oh God, I'm going to be sick."

Joanna leaned forward, sucking in gasps of air, her stomach twisting and writhing, clenching like a fist. "I cant do this, Jessica. I cant. What I did…"

"Mom, you can't give up." Jessica crouched, still holding her mothers hand, staring into dark eyes so like her own. "You can't let him win. Not now. You've got to stand up to him."

xxXXXxxx

_August 5th_

"Joseph? Would you like some dinner?"

He didn't look at her, his mouth sucking greedily on another bottle of beer, his attention focused on the ball game. A number of empties lay, carelessly arranged around his chair, the air thick with the smell of beer and cigarette smoke.

Joanna shrugged, backing slowly away from him, retreating into the kitchen, moving carefully so not to make a noise. He didn't like to be disturbed when he was watching the game.

She sat down at the table, staring at the remains of her own dinner, the meal she had cooked slowly turning into a congealing mess in the saucepans.

She didn't mind it when he ignored her. Better that than the alternative.

No. Not the only alternative.

His voice rose, slurred and angry, swearing at the television. Despite herself, she flinched, glancing worriedly at the kitchen door.

She shook her head speaking as loudly as her fragile, weak courage would allow her. "You wont hurt me again."

Her husband ignored her, her voice lost under the noise of the television.

xxxXXXxxx

_August 28th 1000_

"All rise, People Vs Joanna Rossi, Jason Joseph Rossi, the Honourable Judge Bryce Holland presiding."

The Judge took his seat. "Be seated." He peered at the docket information through fine rimmed glasses. "Who have we got here?"

"Jim Steele for the People."

"Julie Phelps and Michelle Sinclair for the Joanna and Jason Rossi, Your Honour."

"Two clients, Ms. Phelps?"

"Yes, Your Honour. It's our belief that the two cases…."

She trailed off as the Judge raised his hand. "Okay, Ms. Phelps. Save your argument for the relevant place. How do your clients plead?"

"Not guilty." She glanced at Jim. "Mr. Rossi would like to plead guilty on the firearms charge, but I would ask the court to take that, and the family situation into consideration."

"Very well." Bryce Holland made a note on the docket and glanced around the court room, focusing on Jim Steele and Julie Phelps with penetrating blue eyes. "I'll hear opening statements."

**End Of Chapter Ten**

_Please Read and Review._


	11. Chapter 11

Hey Guys,

Thank you again to everyone that has read and reviewed so far. I appreciate the kind words. Into the home stretch with this one, maybe 3 or 4 chapters to go.

Hope you all enjoy the chapter.

**Chapter Eleven**

_August 28th_

Jim stood up, adjusting his suit jacket as he walked to the middle of the court room, conscious of the eyes on him. It was easier here, easier to push aside his doubts, easier to ignore his feelings and concentrate on the job, on the case, on the facts.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen." He paused for a second, letting his gaze wander down the jury, smiling back at the ones who smiled at him. "What we have here is a very simple case."

Then he swivelled, sharply on his heel, stabbing his finger at Joanna Rossi, taking malicious delight in her involuntary flinch. "This woman, Joanna Rossi, shot her husband with an illegally acquired weapon, then, with assistance from her son, she tried to cover up the crime."

"This woman, Joanna Rossi, murdered her husband."

He turned away from her, walking back towards the jury. "Those are the facts, ladies and gentlemen. Her son bought a weapon, she used it to kill her husband and then they both lied to police."

He walked back to his own table, lifting the bagged gun carefully, holding it up for the jury to see. "We have the weapon. We have statements from the detectives and CSIs who investigated the crime. We have forensic evidence that proves that Joanna Rossi pulled the trigger."

He put the gun down, fighting against the urge to wipe his hands on his pants leg, turning quickly away from Jessica's accusing, hate filled glance.

"Those are the facts, ladies and gentlemen. Simple as that." He flung out an arm, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the defence table. "The defence will try and cloud the issue, try and muddy the waters. Don't let them. Don't let them blind you. Thank you."

He walked back to his table, conscious now only of the hate in her eyes, the look of betrayal on her face. He sat down, taking a long drink of water, his throat suddenly dry, her eyes burning through him.

How could he do this to her?

How could he?

xxxXXXxxx

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen." Julie against the edge of the jury box, favouring them all with an easy smile. "The People have told you it's a very simple case. And they're right. It is a simple case."

"What we have here is a case of self defence."

Her eyes roamed across the jury, lingering on a few, making sure that they had followed her words and her argument.

"What we have here is a woman, physically and emotionally abused by her husband, by the one person who was supposed to protect her. Can you imagine that, ladies and gentlemen?"

"What we have here, ladies and gentlemen, is not a cold blooded killer who tried to deceive police. What we have here is a wife pushed too far by a man who was supposed to love and honour her. A mother who panicked and let her son protect her."

She looked around the jury, relieved to see a few heads nodding in agreement, doubt painted openly across other faces.

"It is a simple case, but its not as simple as the People would have you believe. There are reasons and factors beyond the basic facts. Don't be afraid to look for them. Thank you."

She turned and walked back to her table, a slight smile twisting her lips as she passed Jim Steele.

It wasn't about the facts. It was about the feelings.

It was always about the feelings.

xxxXXXxxx

_August 10th_

"…and my mom just sits there and accepts everything he does to her." Jess stopped, her face flushed with embarrassment. "I'm sorry Nick. I didn't mean to dump all this shit on you."

Shit. When was she going to learn? People didn't care, weren't interested in her problems, in how fucked up her family was.

"It's okay." Nick shrugged, his voice muffled by a mouthful of hotdog. "Makes a nice change from worrying about how screwed up my own family is."

"Yours too?"

"All families are screwed up. Its in the description somewhere. Some are just more screwed up than others. So, what are you going to do about your mom?"

"I don't know." She shrugged, reluctant to think about it. "I keep hoping that she's going to wake up and see what a scumbag he is, but…" She shrugged again. "Can we talk about something else? It's too nice a day to worry about this shit!"

"Sure."

Why was it so easy to talk to him and so hard to talk to Jim?

xxxXXXxxx

_August 28th_

"The People call Detective John Clarke Jnr."

A low mumble rolled through the court as he walked to the stand. The court reported scrambled forward, holding a Bible in his hand. Clarke hastily placed his hand on it, raising the other in the air.

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

"I do."

Jim took a final glance at his notes and stood up, his footsteps echoing around the suddenly still court room. "Can you state your name and occupation for the record, please?"

"John Clarke Junior. I'm a New York City Detective, currently attached to the 15th Detective Squad."

"Are you one of the primary detectives on the Joseph Rossi homicide?"

"I am."

Jim nodded, walking across to the jury box and leaning against it, distracting the jury from the whispered conversation between Joanna Rossi and the second chair. "Can you tell the court what happened on August 18th?"

XxxxXXXxxx

_August 18th 2000_

"Shooting, 93rd and B." Lt. Sipowicz waved the note paper in the air. "Jones, you and Junior are catching."

"Great." Baldwin took the note out of Sipowicz's thick fingers, scanning it rapidly. "And I had plans for tonight as well."

"Cancel them."

Baldwin sighed and stood up, lifting his jacket as Junior came out of the locker room. "Come on, partner, we got a call."

"What? Where?"

"Shooting, 93rd and B."

"And I wanted to watch the game tonight."

xxxXXXxxx

Clarke ducked under the tape, fixing his shield to his jacket, eyes flicking around, darting across the body, lying slumped in the middle of the room.

"Detectives!"

"Officer Shannon." Clarke tucked his hands into his pockets. "What have we got?"

"Victim's name is Joseph Rossi. Shot from close range." Shannon pointed at a closed door with his pen. "Family is in the spare room."

"We got a weapon yet?" Baldwin spoke softly, his voice rumbling through the still room.

"Just waiting on CSI to get here to start the search."

"Who called it in?"

"A neighbour." Shannon glanced at his notebook. "Mrs. Ashton."

"I'll talk to her." Baldwin turned and ducked back underneath the tape.

"Where's the family?"

"Spare room. Through there."

"Great." Clarke ran his hand through his hair and walked carefully across the room. He knocked on the door and pushed it open, revealing a small, sparsely furnished room. An obviously distraught woman sat on the bed, a young man standing beside her, his arm around her shoulders. "Mrs. Rossi, I'm Detective Clarke…"

"It was me…." The young man interrupted him. "I shot him."

xxxXXXxxx

_August 28th_

"Thank you, Detective Jones." Jim sat back down behind his table, making another note on the case file. Both Clarke and Jones had told basically the same story, reinforcing the case against Joanna Rossi.

Julie remained seated, silent for another moment, allowing the tension and nerves to grow in the court room. Jim found himself shifting nervously, impatiently in his seat.

What the hell was she up to?

"How long have you been attached to the 15th?"

She didn't stand up didn't look up.

"About four years, ma'am."

"Four years. In those four years, Detective have you investigated any complaints against Joseph Rossi?"

"No, ma'am."

"No? What about your colleagues?"

"I don't know."

Finally she stood up, pacing around the table, before turning to face the jury. "You don't know?"

"No, ma'am."

"Did you check? See if there were any complaints against Mr Rossi? See if his name raised any flags?"

"No, ma'am."

"So you didn't know that the 11th Squad had received a complaint against him, made by the defendant, just three months ago?"

Baldwin opened his mouth, but Jim beat him to it. "Objection. Asked and answered."

"Sustained. Stay on topic, Ms. Phelps."

"Did you investigate him? Talk to his friends, associates, co workers?"

"No, ma'am."

She turned to face him, catching him with dark eyes. "Why not?"

Detective Jones shrugged, uncomfortable under that burning gaze. "It seemed to be an open and shut case. We had a confession and forensic…."

"So neither you nor your partner actually investigated this case?"

"Objection!" Jim sprang to his feet. "Inflammatory."

"Withdrawn." Julie sneered at Baldwin, before turning away. "I have no more questions for this witness."

**End of Chapter Eleven**

_Please, read and review_


	12. Chapter 12

-1Hey Folks,

A huge thank you again to everyone that has read and reviewed so far, especially to those who have stuck with the story from the start. I really appreciate it.

In the final stretch of this one, maybe three or four chapters after this one.

Hope you enjoy the chapter.

**Chapter Twelve**

_August 29th 0945_

"Mr. Steele? Are you ready to call your next witness?"

"The People call Lindsay Monroe." He glanced at his notes as she walked to the stand, half listening as the court recorder swore her in as a witness. "Can you state your name and occupation for the record?"

"Detective Lindsay Monroe. I'm a Crime Scene Investigator with the New York City Crime Lab."

"Were you the CSI assigned to a shooting on 93rd and B on August 18th?"

"I was. Me and my partner."

"That would be Detective Daniel Messer, also of the New York City Crime Lab."

"Yeah." She licked dry lips, folding her hands carefully in her lap, trying to hide her nerves.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Michelle Sinclair pass a note to her client. He fought to control his temper, knowing that this was another one of Julie's tricks, just designed to distract the jury from the evidence he was trying to present.

"Can you tell us what happened, Detective Monroe?"

xxxXXXxxx

_August 18th 2045_

"Bout time you guys got here."

"Fuck you, Shannon." Danny ducked under the tape. "We're getting slammed tonight. You got a weapon yet?"

"Waiting on you guys." Shannon paused, glancing curiously at Danny. "Wasn't expecting to see you."

"Its fucking crazy tonight." Danny snapped on a pair of gloves. "Mac just caught a triple off Broadway."

Lindsay chuckled at his ill humour, opening her case and taking out her camera, focusing the viewfinder at the body, sprawled in the middle of the broken room. The sudden flash filled the room like a second burst of gunfire.

Danny paced carefully across the living room, his attention focused on the floor, blanking out the noise and confusion of the crime scene.

Something caught his eye, the dark burnished metal catching the light.

He knelt and picked it up. "Got a shell here, Montana." He dropped it into an evidence bag.

Lindsay lowered her camera, glancing back over her shoulder. "DA's here."

Danny groaned, looking back at the door, standing in the middle of the crime scene. "Better make sure everything's done by the book."

xxxXXXxxx

"You got a minute?"

"Not really." He adjusted the focusing knob on the microscope. "I'm backed up three ways til Sunday."

"We got a problem."

He looked up from the microscope, his glasses pushed up against his forehead. "What sort of problem?"

"The case wrecking kind."

"How?"

"Jason Rossi told Junior that he shot his father, didn't he?"

"Yeah."

"I just did his GSR test." Lindsay shook her head. "It came back negative."

"Negative? Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I did the test twice. Even checked his clothes in case, somehow, he got the residue off his hands. It came back clean as well. He isn't the shooter."

"Shit." He looked back at the microscope, adjusting the focus again. "You better go tell Sipowicz. He hates me."

xxxXXXxxx

_August 29th_

"Thank you, Detective Messer." Jim walked back to his table, conscious of the low rumble of expectation filling the court room. The evidence that the CSIs had given had been sound and Julie had gone easy on Lindsay Monroe, dismissing her after a few cursory questions.

Maybe she wasn't going to challenge the scientific evidence.

"What grade are you, Detective Messer?"

"Objection. Relevance."

"Goes towards the witnesses' credibility, Your Honour." Julie turned a mocking smile on Danny. "The People want the Jury to accept everything that this witness has told them. I think they should hear alternative evidence."

"Then the defence should call its own witnesses."

Bryce Holland thought for a second. "I'll allow the questioning, but you're on a tight leash, Ms. Phelps."

"What grade are you, Detective Messer?" All trace of the mocking humour was gone.

"Third."

"How long have you been third grade?"

"About 6 years."

"Have you ever been considered for promotion?"

"Yes."

"What happened?"

"I was taken off the promotion grid."

"Why?

Danny shrugged, looking away from her, unwilling to answer.

"Could it be because of your connection to the Tanglewood Boys?

"Objection."

"Sustained."

Julie smiled, enjoying the sight of Danny Messer squirming uncomfortably in his seat, dark memories stirred by her questions. "How busy is the Crime Lab?"

"It depends."

"Were you busy on August 18th?"

"Yeah."

"How many cases were you and your partner working on August 18th?"

"A few."

"A few? What does that mean, Detective Messer? More than one? Less than ten?"

"I don't remember."

"More than one.?"

"Yes. More than one."

"And I thought the Crime Lab dealt in specifics. Who was in charge of the Rossi Homicide?"

"I was."

"Is is usual for a 3rd Grade Detective to be in charge of a homicide investigation?"

"We were slammed."

"You were slammed. Tell me, Detective Messer, did anyone examine my client?"

"No."

"No? Too busy, too slammed, I guess. Withdrawn." She turned to Jim, an amused smile on her face, dismissing Danny. "I have nothing more for this witness."

xxxXXXxxx

_August 22nd_

"Are we ready for trial on the Rossi Homicide?"

"As ready as we're ever going to be. Its scheduled to start next week. I offered another deal, but…." Jim shrugged, his eyes focused on the desk between them.

"Something on your mind, Jim?"

"Funeral is this week." He looked up to see Alex slowly shaking her head. "One of us should be there."

"I'm sorry, Jim. We cant…"

"She worked here…"

"I know, Jim. And I know what she meant to you." She looked away hurriedly, her pale cheeks stained with crimson, clearing her throat nervously. "But you know how that would make the Bureau look."

"Yes." Jim stood, angrily lifting his case folder, his movements taught with anger and frustration. "And I know you're more worried about how it makes you look."

xxxXXXxxx

_August 29th 1800_

"…_at the end of the second day, the People's case is in danger of collapsing under its own simplicity…"_

Robert stared at the TV screen, his face twisted in a malicious grin as he watched Jim coming down the courthouse steps, his face dark and shadowed. "He looks like he's had a bad day."

Alex frowned, concentrating on the television, now showing Julie Phelps walking down the same steps, stopping to give a brief statement as the cameras went off around her and her client.

All the grieving widows together.

"It doesn't matter if you win or not." He switched the television off, the room suddenly still and silent. "All that matters is that they public see you as someone prepared to seek out the truth, no matter what." He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "And that's a vital characteristic for the New York District Attorney."

She forced a smile as his lips brushed against her cheek. Wondering if a political career was just reward for her treachery.

**End of Chapter Twelve.**

_Please, Read and Review_


	13. Chapter 13

-1Hey Guys,

Thank you again to everyone that has read and reviewed so far.

There is only a couple of chapters left in this chapter, so I'm hoping to wrap things up pretty soon.

Hope you enjoy the chapter.

**Chapter Thirteen**

_August 30th_

"Have you any more witnesses to call, Mr. Steele?"

Jim stood up, adjust his tie, the heat settling across his shoulders with an uncomfortable touch. "No, Your Honour. The Prosecution rests."

"Very well." Bryce Holland made a note on the docket in front of him. "Ms Phelps, are you ready to call your first witness."

"We are, Your Honour. The Defence calls Dr. Tony Salvo."

Dr. Salvo walked to the stand as a low rumble of whispers filled the courtroom. Julie stood up as he was sworn in, silence falling swiftly, the room hushed with expectation. "Can you state your name for the record?"

"Dr. Anthony Salvo."

"How do you know the defendant, Dr. Salvo?"

"I've been the family physician for twenty five years."

"How often have you treated Joanna Rossi?"

Dr. Salvo frowned, the lines deepening around his eyes. "When I started treating the family, not that often. Recently, though, I've seen her more weeks than I haven't."

"Why is that?"

"Objection."

Sustained."

Julie thought for a second. "When was Joanna's last appointment?"

"July 25th."

"What did you prescribe?"

"Painkillers. I refilled her prescription for painkillers." Dr. Salvo sat back, his face haunted by the shadow of his memories. "She had a lot of impact injuries on her abdomen and stomach."

"What caused those injuries?"

"Objection! Calls for speculation."

"Sustained."

"In your professional opinion, Dr. Salvo, what caused those injuries?"

"I think she was suffering domestic abuse."

xxxXXXxx

"Can you state your name for the record?"

"Jason Joseph Rossi.." He swallowed nervously, moistening his lips with a glass of water, his eyes tracking her around the court room, his eyes large in his pale face.

Michelle Sinclair smiled reassuringly, trying to settle her own stomach, twisting with nerves, her mouth dry, hoarse. "How long were your parents married, Jason?"

Call him by name, Julie had said. Settle him down. Make the jury see him as a son, a friend, a brother, rather than as a suspect.

"About thirty years."

"Had their relationship changed recently?"

"Yeah."

"How so?"

"He started beating on her. More than he did before. It was getting worse. She…"

"Were you afraid for your mother's life?"

"Yes."

"Nothing further." She walked back to her table, sitting down next to Joanna Rossi as Jim rose to his feet.

"Did you buy an illegal weapon in a bar in Harlem?"

"Yes."

"Did your mother use that weapon to shoot your father?"

"Yes."

"Nothing further."

xxxXXXxxx

_August 19th_

It didn't seem right, spying on them like this. Eavesdropping while she tried to save her mother from having to go through a murder trial. It didn't seem right, but he couldn't drag himself away.

He watched her, watched her smile that practised smile the graceful sway in her hips as she reached out a hand towards him, her hand shaking as she fought to keep her control.

Her eyes were dead.

Jim caught her wrist, shaking his head, pushing her away. She snapped something back at him, her anger clearly visible in the set of her jaw, in the flash of her dark eyes.

He shook his head again, and she stormed out of the office, the door crashing against the wall.

His eyes followed her through the Bureau, followed her with the whispers and the rumours and the gossip.

xxxXXXxxx

_August 30th_

"Thank you, Ms. Rossi." Julie smiled at Jessica an turned away, still smiling as she looked at Jim. "Your witness."

Jessica moistened her lips with a glass of water, waiting. She tried to look at Jim, tried to see him as a prosecution lawyer, trying to forget everything they had shared.

It wasn't easy.

He wouldn't look at her as he walked across the courtroom, stopping in front of the jury. His voice when he spoke was carefully neutral, expressionless, as if he spoke to a stranger.

That was what they had become to each other. That was what this case had made them.

Something else her father had destroyed.

xxxXXXxxx

"The defence calls Joanna Rossi."

The murmurs that filled the court room were of expectation. They had come to see this, the widow on the stand. Had come to hear her try and explain her actions.

Julie smiled reassuringly at her, as she was sworn in, taking care to pitch her voice, just right, to make it warm and comforting. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Rossi."

"Good afternoon." Her voice rose as she spoke, twisted into a nervous squeak by the microphone. The murmurs rose again, half amused, half sympathetic.

"Order, order!" Bryce Holland banged his gavel hard against the bench, glaring like an angry school teacher around the room. "Order!"

Julie waited until silence fell again. "Can you tell us what happened on August 18th?"

xxxXXXxxx

_August 18th_

Her hand shook as she pulled open the drawer, throwing clothes over her shoulder, onto the floor behind her. A sudden wave of pain raced through her and she had to stop, pressing her hand against her side. She could feel the bruise there, forming like a living breathing thing beneath her fingers.

Breathing hard through her nose, she searched through the drawer, moving slower, carefully. Until she felts its hard black mass beneath her shaking fingertips.

She drew it out, wondering what she was doing, feeling it mould to the palm of her hand. He wouldn't hurt her again.

He'd kill her.

She stumbled down the stairs, every step sending a fresh wave of pain through her body, her head clouding.

"Joesph…"

"Joa…" He turned around, stopping when he saw what was in her hand, aimed at him. He backed away, raising his hands defensively. "What are you going to do with that?"

"I'm sorry, Joseph."

She pulled the trigger.

xxxXXXxxx

_August 30th_

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Rossi."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Steele." Her eyes followed his movement around the room, nervous and unsure. She licked dry lips, her voice shaking.

He made his voice as cold and hard as he could, pushing aside his doubts and emotions. "After you shot your husband, Mrs. Rossi, what did you do?"

"I…eh…"

"Did you phone the Police?"

"No."

"No. You didn't. You phoned your son and between the two of you, you concocted this plan to cover up what you did, didn't you?"

"Objection!" Julie sprang quickly to her feet, fighting through the sudden swell of her memories. "He's badgering the witness."

"Sustained. If you have a questions, Mr. Steele, ask it. Otherwise move along."

"If what happened was self defence, Mrs. Rossi, if you were truly frightened for your life, why did it take you so long to phone the Police?"

"I panicked. I didn't know what to do…"

"And you tried to cover it up…"

"Objection. Is there a question here, Your Honour?"

"Over ruled. The witness will answer."

"I panicked. I didn't know what to do. I was in shock, in pain." A single tear trickled down her cheek. "Jason was the only person I could think off to call."

"And you let your son take responsibility?"

"Yes."

"I have nothing more for this witness." Jim started to walk off then stopped, his eyes fixed on Jess' pale face, her eyes dark and haunted. "I'm very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Rossi."

**End of Chapter Thirteen**

_Please, Read and Review._


	14. Chapter 14

-1Hey Guys,

Thanks again to everyone that has read and reviewed so far. This is the penultimate chapter, so I hope you enjoy it.

**Chapter Fourteen**

_August 30th  
_

"Your Honour, the Defence rests."

"Very well." Bryce Holland made a note on the docket and sat back, peering at them through his fine rim glasses. "Have either of you got anything further to add."

"No, Your Honour."

"No, Your Honour."

"We'll take a fifteen minute recess and then I'll hear closing arguments." He lifted the gavel and banged it sharply on the bench. He had left the room before the whispers and murmurs had died away.

It was almost over.

For better or worse, it was almost over.

xxxXXXxxx

"It's a simple case, ladies and gentlemen." Jim leaned against the edge of the jury box. "I told you that when this trial started and nothing has changed."

"The facts speak for themselves."

"Jason Rossi bought an unlicensed firearm. Joanna Rossi used that weapon to shoot her husband. Both defendants have admitted these facts under oath."

"Those facts are indisputable."

"Those facts mean that Joanna Rossi murdered her husband."

He paused suddenly, wary of pushing the issue too hard, of appearing too unsympathetic to the jury. "The Defence has tried to muddy the issue the water surrounding this case. They have tried to make this about self defence. They have tried to convince you that the defendant was a victim of domestic abuse. That she had genuine reason to fear for her life."

"And maybe she did." He shrugged. "Maybe she did feel trapped in an abusive relationship. Maybe she did see her actions as her only means of escape."

"That does not change the facts."

"She murdered her husband."

"Believe me, ladies and gentlemen, I have every sympathy for Joanna Rossi. I have every sympathy for her son. I have every sympathy…" He broke off, coughing, feeling her gaze burning through him.

"That sympathy doesn't change the facts. It doesn't change what happened. It doesn't change what she did."

"It does not change the fact that she's guilty of murder."

xxxXXXxxx

She remembered the last time she had done this, in the same courtroom, with Jim Steele hovering over her like an executioner.

"The prosecution have tried to make this a simple case to cover up their own mistakes and their own errors. They've tried to reduce this tragic situation to the lowest common denominator to deflect attention from their own mistakes."

"My client had been the victim of domestic abuse for a number of years. She has made at least one call to Police. Did Detectives from the 15th Squad follow up on these reports? No. They took the 'simple' way out and arrested the first person they could find."

"My client had been the victim of domestic abuse for a number of years. Did the CSIs from the New York Crime Lab examine her for the signs of this abuse? No. They took the 'simple' way out because they were 'slammed'.

"You've heard the catalogue of errors and mistakes made by the Police and CSIs in the investigation of this 'simple' case. You've heard from the family physician. You've heard from the family members who have testified to the growing abuse. You've heard from Joanna Rossi who was put in an impossible situation and panicked."

"Please do not punish this woman or her family any more than they already have been."

xxxXXXxxx

Bryce Holland angled his chair towards the jury box, interlacing his fingers across his stomach. "This is a smple case. The facts are clear cut and not disputed by either side."

"If you accept these facts, then the choice is simple. Joanna Rossi is guilty of murder and you must return a guilty verdict."

"However, if you accept the defence's argument that the family situation and the errors made by the NYPD represent mitigating circumstances, then you are duty bound to return a not guilty verdict."

xxxXXXxxx

She opened the door slowly, hesitantly, wondering who it would be, dreading it, almost tense with expectation.

It was almost a relief to see him.

"Hey."

"Hey." He slipped inside the door. "How'd it go?"

"I don't know. Okay. I think." She closed the door locking and bolting it. She just wanted to shut the world out for the night, forget about everything just for the evening.

Surely she was owed that much.

"Do you want a drink?"

"Sure."

She walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge lifting out a couple of beers. She handed one to him, her fingers, damp with condensation, brushing against his.

She took a hasty drink. "I got something to tell you." She took another drink, grateful for the rush of courage through her system.

Nick shifted uncomfortably, picking at the label on his beer. "Yeah?"

"I went to see Jim. Before the trial started." She took another drink, trying to delay what she had to say. "I asked him to drop the charges against my mother."

"Jess, it…."

"I asked him to do it, Nick. I told him…I told him, I'd do whatever he wanted if he'd drop the charges."

"I know."

"That's the type of person I am, Nick." She smiled bitterly, oddly relieved at the chance to unburden herself. "You still want to be here with me?"

He kissed her before she could say anything more, and she clung to him desperately. Frightened to let him go.

xxxXXXxxx

"Whiskey." Jim shifted on his seat, pushing the empty glass back across the bar, fighting the urge to look at his watch. They wouldn't be back with a verdict yet. Julie had done a good enough job at the muddying the waters.

The barman put the glass in front of him, trickling bourban into it. Jim lifted the glass, holding it up to the light, turning it first one way then the other, watching the way the light reflected through it.

Yeah. Way too close to call.

Damn her!

"Dry white wine, please."

He looked up at the sound of her voice, reflexes and senses deadened by the steady stream

of alcohol. Disbelieving.

She had some nerve.

Of all bars in New York….

He smiled sourly, imagining the morbid piano tune striking up behind him.

"And another one for him."

"Wasn't expecting to see you here."

Julie shrugged, lifting the wine glass in delicate fingers. "Tough case. Brought back a lot of memories."

"I bet it did."

xxxXXXxxx

"I guess the first thing we should do is elect a foreman."

"Seems reasonable." He sat back in his chair, pushing the reamins of his dinner across the table. "I nominate Hank."

"Seconded."

"Any other candidates?"

Not one other hand was raised.

"Looks like its you, Hank."

"Great."

"So where do we start?"

"I guess the basic facts aren't in doubt. She shot him. Even the defence doesn't contest that."

"So why are we here? Seems straightforward to me. Guilty as charged."

"So you don't think the family evidence has any weight? You'd just dismiss the fact that her husband was beating the shit out of her?"

"Well…"

"I guess that's what we have to decide. How much weight do we give to the family evidence? How important were the Police errors? Do they make any difference? That's what the judge said we had to consider." He looked around the table. "Guess we should get started."

**End of Chapter Fourteen**

_Please, read and review._

_Just one more chapter to go._


	15. Chapter 15

-1Hey Guys,

Here it is the last chapter!

A huge thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed so far, especially those who have stuck with the story from the start. Thank you so much, I hope you enjoyed it.

**Chapter Fifteen**

_September 2nd_

"How long are they going to take?"

"It's hard to say, Ma." Jess forced her voice to be as calm as she could, as calmness she didn't feel. "They take as long as they take." Suddenly agitated, she rose and began pacing around the small room provided for them by Sinclair and Associates.

"I wish they would hurry up."

Jessica grinned tightly. At least while they hadn't come back, they hadn't come back with a guilty verdict.

She refused to even think about that. Trying to think about happier times. The first Christmas she could remember. Her graduation from law school. Nick.

"How do you think it went?"

She sighed, snatched from her daydreams, back to dull reality. "Its hard to say. Julie put up a strong case, cast some doubt on the Police evidence and procedures."

She didn't mention that Jim Steele had also put up a strong case. That for all Julie's efforts, the Police evidence still seemed overwhelming. She had made convictions on less.

And so they waited. Not daring to hope.

xxxxXXXxxx

He lifted the file, flicking idly through it, trying to remember what his life had been like before this case had come into it.

Jim closed the file and put it into the box, carefully labelled '**ROSSI**'. Making space on his desk for another case.

Another case, another victim. Another defendant with family and friends convinced of their innocence. Another case that Alex Cabot had handed to him, had asked him to look into for her.

He wondered what she was grooming him for. Wondered if he had the stomach for the sort of game she liked to play. The sort of game he had been forced to play with Jessica.

He looked up at the sound of knuckles rapping against the glass of his door, holding another one of the files in his hand, caught in the act of re-reading Lindsay Monroe's statement.

Brian Peluso stood in the doorway of his office, his face unreadable yet sympathetic.

"Jury's back."

xxxXXXxxx

The court room filled from the back rows forward, eyes and attention focused on the door leading to the jury room. Waiting, wondering. Expecting. Hoping.

Julie Phelps stood behind her table, talking with her clients, a reassuring smile painted across her face. Despite her calmness, her apparent confidence, her eyes kept straying to the closed door. Beside her, when she thought no one was looking at her, Michelle Sinclair chewed nervously on her thumbnail.

Jim Steele sorted through his briefcase, pretending to read his notes, stealing a glance at Jess. Her jaw was clenched, her hands folded tightly in her lap. This case had been hard on her.

Bryce Holland walked in from his chambers, and the court sprang to its feet. He nodded absently, settling into his chair. Waiting.

The door opened in slow motion and the jury made their way to their seats, swimming against the tide of heat.

All of them glanced at Joanna Rossi as they sat down.

XxxXXXxxx

"Have you reached a verdict?"

"We have, Your Honour."

"What say you?"

"In the matter of _People vs. Jason Rossi_ on the charges of acquiring an illegal firearm, conspiracy to murder, we, the jury, find the defendant, guilty."

Jason squeezed his eyes shut, gripping the edge of the table hard. Michelle Sinclair patted his arm reassuringly.

Nothing they hadn't expected.

"In the matter of _People v Joanna Rossi_ on the charge of murder in the second degree, we, the jury, find the defendant…." He paused, glancing up at Joanna over the top of the sheet of paper, his hand trembling slightly. "Not guilty."

xxxXXXxxx

Not guilty.

Relief washed across Jess as she embraced her mother, then her brother, laughter and tears intermingling, as the noise of the court room washed across her.

Julie closed her eyes, her shoulders slumping in relief, memories she had tried to bury and forget rushing to the surface. She glanced at the celebrating Rossi family, and allowed herself to smile. She could enjoy this before she started working on Jason's appeal.

Jim nodded once as the verdict was read out, not looking at the defence table. Busying himself in packing away his file and pen.

Maybe justice had been served.

He lifted his briefcase and turned to leave, almost walking into her as she swept through the gate. "Jess…Jess, wait!"

"What is it, Jim?"

"I'm…I'm glad they came back with a Not Guilty, Jess."

Her eyes flashed, dark and angry. "Go to hell, Jim."

She walked off, leaving him standing along in the middle of the court room.

**The End of Trouble Over Me**

_And that's it, folks. Thanks again to everyone who has read the story. I hope you enjoyed it._

Catch you again.


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